


War Games

by WhyMrSpook



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Episode: s01e23 A Taste of Armageddon, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Hurt Kirk, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutually Unrequited, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Kirk, Pining Kirk, Present Tense, Protective Spock, Suicide Attempt, T'hy'la, TOS and AOS sort of meshed?, Tarsus IV, True Love, Trust Issues, why mister spock, yep its THAT episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 13:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11738223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyMrSpook/pseuds/WhyMrSpook
Summary: He could tell Spock he loves him at any moment. It could slip from his lips, as easy as bidding Spock a good evening. If it wasn’t for that unspoken agreement… those words, Jim thinks, don’t need to be said. He and Spock never cross that line. They might, one day. Jim hopes it will be one day soon.Tag to 'A Taste of Armageddon' in which Spock makes Jim believe in more than just miracles, but love and trust, and Jim thinks back on his time on Tarsus IV.





	War Games

“Do you trust me, Jimmy?” His mother asks him. He’s five years old and teary-eyed, terrified that everything is going to change now that his mommy isn’t going to be a Kirk anymore. He doesn’t like Frank very much, but he’s seen Sam say the same thing and upset everyone, so he’s learned not to say what he really thinks. Grandma says sometimes it’s kinder to lie, and Jim’s Grandma is the kindest woman in the world, so he’s going to trust her.

He nods fervently, because yes- yes he does trust his mommy too. She isn’t around very often, but when she is she’s his best friend. They’re closer, even, than he is with Sam. That’s because mommy tells him all about his Daddy, no matter how sad her eyes get. She tells him about how much of a hero he was. She holds him to her, tightly, and it feels safe and warm. Like there’s no nicer place in the world than grandpa’s little house in the countryside. It’s the Kirk family paradise, with horses and plants and log fires roaring every night. It’s home, and he wonders if his mommy could possibly feel the same way about the stars. That’s where Daddy is, after all.

“Good boy. Then trust me, Jimmy, when I say that I’ll always be a Kirk. Always. And you will be too. Nothing is going to change, baby, I’m still your number one. You, Sam and me, always.” His mom smiles at him in that special way she reserves only for him and Sam, her eyes sparkling in the ill-lit room. “Frank’s just going to make everything even better. I need someone who can keep up with you boys, anyway.” Her laughter is like syrup, and she strokes his hair gently. It’s a sort of magical touch, with the power to make him feel instantly calm and sleepy. Like, if she just keeps holding him and stroking him, there can never be any more crying or arguments or shouting in the world. Just him and his mommy, snuggling on their comfy sofa by the fire.

“Will Frank read to me, when you’re up in the stars?”

“I’m sure of it.” The hand in his hair slips away too soon, tickling his neck lightly. “Speaking of the stars, little one, I think it’s time we get you back to bed. Your daddy’s star will worry if he can’t look down on your through the skylight.” Jim smiles. “Up you go, Jimmy. I’ll come and check on you in a minute.”

 

 

 

War games. That’s all they are, Jim thinks, later, on his way back to his Bridge, reflecting on the sort of situation that the two warring planets had found themselves in. He hates how interesting he finds it all. Those computers are – were – a tacticians dream. How easy it would be to forget the real lives at stake. How wonderful it would be to get caught up in the numbers, the strategies. Like chess, deciding which piece is best to knock out.

Jim doesn’t always play chess logically, which infuriates his First Officer to no end, and makes Jim’s heart lighter. Especially on nights like this, and Jim _knows_ they’ll play tonight. Spock will appear at his door, all neutral expression and hands clasp behind his back. Jim will invite him in, and they’ll stay up until Jim can’t hold back his yawns. Spock will remember he’s human, not able to go quite as long without sleep, and he will remove himself from his Captain’s quarters. But for a few shining moments, when his room is dim and Spock is sat right there, eyes trained on Jim as if he’s the stars themselves, everything is _good._ Jim will feel a peace he’s been chasing since he was barely out of infancy – barely beyond a toddler. Look at him now, the Great Captain Kirk. Jim knows, _logically,_ how far he’s come. How against the odds it was for him to even survive to the Academy, let alone ascend to these wondrous heights.

Jim detests war, not for the sake of it. He loathes the violence, the needless deaths, the needless _sacrifices_. When they do have to use violence, when it seems there’s no other choice, he’ll always step up. Even to stop war games, when direct violence is the only counter to indirect violence. Earlier, he told Spock so. Spock, his favourite pacifist. Spock agrees with him, most of the time, that violence is a tool that must be administer for offence and defence.

They’d both kill, and Jim knows it. The only difference between them, and there are so very few – despite Spock’s Vulcan heritage – is that Jim has already killed. His hands are not clean, and he will never walk with the same grace as Spock.

 _We can admit that we’re killers,_ Jim had said to Anan 7. It was true, in the broader sense. Jim dedicated a great deal of his time, however, trying to forget just how personal his statement had been.

 

 

 

There’s one thing Jim can think of, with his foot pressing down on the gas pedal right to the floor. It’s surprising how much time he has to think as he approaches the end. It’s surprising, even to him, the clarity in his mind as he passes Sam and wants to bury his fingernails into his skull, but he’s too frozen still to move them from the steering wheel.

If he goes over with the car… if he keeps on accelerating, shifting gears like his mom had taught him years before. If he flies over the edge, will there be a moment before his fall where he’s floating. Will there be a single, fleeting second where it’s like there’s no gravity at all. He hopes so. He’d like to float, just for a bit. To be weightless and unrestrained, before the weight of the car tugs him down and his stomach plummets and his world ends.

Jim laughs as he drives, because there’s nothing else. He learned a while ago that crying doesn’t get him anywhere. Now Sam is going, and he’s going to be alone, and he’s terrified. So he laughs, throws his head back against the seat because he doesn’t quite reach the headrest yet.

In the end, he doesn’t test his theory. His mom might yet come back, take him with her up into space. Maybe he can feel that weightlessness with her, holding his hand, like it _should_ be. He’s not so old that he doesn’t wish she was there with him, to stroke his hair and envelope him in a hug that feels safe and right. What hurts most, Jim realises, as he’s escorted to his cell, is that he _wishes,_ right to the core of him, that he didn’t want his mom right then. If he were stronger, like Sam, he’d have just flown over that cliff. He wouldn’t be choking back sobs for his mom in a cold, lonely cell.

 

 

 

Spock is beautiful. Jim’s known this for years. He’s seen Spock illuminated by starlight. By iridescent white rocks. By pink and purple skies, shining silver rivers. He’s seen Spock in his quarters, lights at twenty percent, and exhausted. He’s wanted to ravish Spock’s body, and restrained himself always, because they don’t do that. The want is there – the need prevails above all else. By unspoken agreement, he and Spock never cross that line. Jim likes to think they will, one day. It will be simple and natural, as if they’ve been doing it all their lives. Jim will just take Spock’s hand, like bonded couples on Vulcan do, and Spock will quirk an eyebrow at him in amusement. He won’t say anything, though. Spock will accept it and hold Jim’s hand, and they’ll walk away together as if nothing need’s discussing.

Jim daydreams too much, and he’s glad for it. He spent far too long having to face reality, he’ll take refuge where he can get it now. _We all have our vices._ Jim thinks about his life rarely, if he can help it. The choices he’s made. He wonders what someone else would have done, in his shoes. If they’d have made it this far. If they’d have escapes with their soul intact.

 _We can admit that we’re killers,_ Jim had said to Anan 7. Jim had said that, and felt the jagged piece of metal he’d found in the rubble of Kodos’ mansion. _"We can admit that we're killers, but we're not going to kill today. That's all it takes."_ Jim had no choice. He could say that now, years between him and Tarsus IV, but at the time he would have scoffed.

Spock is beautiful, and he’s stood beside Jim’s chair, alive and safe. Not a casualty today, nor ever if Jim can help it. Often, he can’t, but the day he accepts that is the day he resigns.

“Captain,” Spock says in a way no-one could ever hope to emulate. Jim could record all the different ways Spock uses his title and know with precise certainty the mood of his First Officer from each slightly different tone. This time, Spock is faintly amused – the way he is after a particularly brilliant win of Jim’s in chess. “You almost make me believe in luck.”

You have _no_ idea, Jim thinks. Because Jim has never really believed in luck either. _Sometimes, Mister Spock, a feeling is all we humans have to go on._ That’s true, at least. He’s survived off instinct, and maybe luck did help him alone the way. But nothing, none of it, compares to the day he and Spock teamed up on the Enterprise. There are men and women, living free and peacefully, because of them. There are worlds joining forces with the Federations, love and families and exploration occurring in their wake.

 _We can admit that we're killers, but we're not going to kill today. That's all it takes._ Jim had said, like poetry. Some pretty speech, demanding empathy and compassion. He smiles now, at Spock, and his ribs feel so tight around his heart it’s almost painful. The universe is improving, he knows that. Daily, peace treaties are forged and love is admitted and children laugh. In his mind, in those wastelands of Tarsus and the moment of weightlessness before his fall as he flings himself out of his father’s car, he is improving too. Spock is there, unbeknownst to him, guiding Jim to a moral high ground his childhood had never considered.

Jim is clever and as long as Spock is beside him, his tactics, his war games, his _feelings_ are going to be okay.

 

 

 

Frank isn’t scary, when Jim gets released. He hasn’t changed at all. No, it’s Jim who’s changed. Like his cells were rewired between his poor driving and manic laughter, as he sped past his escaping brother and leaped so hard he thought, just maybe, he might not hit the ground at all.

Jim is never quite so fortunate.

His body aches where he did crash back into the dirt, but it’s distant and not as bad as he’d like it to be. Pain focuses him now, where it never did before. And, another thing, he notices as he’s sent upstairs to pack… he isn’t scared.

Frank isn’t scary, when he’s screaming at Jim and crushing empty cans beneath his boot. Jim imagines it’s his shin bone again, but not even that phases him. Frank hasn’t changed, Jim has.

Sam is gone, but the house doesn’t feel noticeably different. Sam is safe, Jim reckons, because his brother always was smarter than Jim. Jim is going to be safe too. On Tarsus, with his Aunt and Uncle. He doesn’t remember them at all, but he has a picture of them all together. His aunt and uncle, and him and his mom. In the background, Sam is playing with a Starship figurine. They’re Kirks, and that’s what matters. His mom has always told him family was the most important thing, and then she’d abandoned them. Left them to Frank.

Jim doesn’t trust his Mom. Not her infrequent video calls, or her vague messages. He doesn’t believe for one moment she is a true Kirk, and that’s fair. She isn’t. His Father had been a Kirk. Jim and Sam, _they’re_ Kirks. His Aunt and Uncle, they’re Kirk’s too. Winona is just a distant memory to him now, and Jim is no longer frightened. If he has nothing to lose from his mother, he has nothing to fear from Frank.

Frank will not beat him or blackmail him anymore. Jim will go to Tarsus, enrol in the courses they offer there to get his credits for college, and then he’ll escape too. Not as early as Sam, not as dramatically. But with time and effort, and a whole lot of luck, Jim doesn’t doubt he’ll get there.

 

 

 

“Captain,” Spock says, and Jim cannot stop himself from smiling. “You almost make me believe in luck.”

“Why Mister Spock,” His heart is full and his cheeks ache, and tactics and war games are a thing of the past. “You almost make me believe in miracles.”

Jim doesn’t put much faith in luck. Once, he’d thought luck was what got him to Tarsus. To safety. It turned out to be one of the worst things in his life, and he’d rejected the notion entirely for a while. Until he’d joined Starfleet and met Leonard and Christopher, and eventually, Spock. Spock, who he smiles at now and adores from a distance not quite far enough to be safe. Spock is his last move in this chess game. His weakness, as big as the Enterprise and as staggering as the lives of 400 crewmen.

 _We can admit that we're killers, but we're not going to kill today. That's all it takes._ Jim had said, and he believed his words entirely. But such directions are easier said than done. It’s like saying, _I can admit that I’m in love with my first officer, but I’m not going to today._

He could tell Spock he loves him at any moment. It could slip from his lips, as easy as bidding Spock a good evening. If it wasn’t for that unspoken agreement… those words, Jim thinks, don’t _need_ to be said. He and Spock never cross that line. They might, one day. Jim hopes it will be one day soon. It will be simple and natural, as if they’ve been doing it all their lives. They will have the rest of their lives to continue, as lovers and bond-mates. It will all be natural and easy, and he and Spock will walk away together as if nothing need’s discussing. Not between them, not ever.

Jim isn’t worthy. His hands are dripping with blood only he can see, and against his palms he can still feel that jagged piece of metal. His first weapon; his only defence once he was back scavenging in the wreckage of his Aunt and Uncle’s home world. The rubble of Kodos’ mansion had been satisfying to tread on, despite cutting into his feet. Despite the dead bodies he had to avoid, like land mines.

_We can admit that we're killers._

Only he can’t. Not to Spock. He can’t sully Spock’s slender hands with the blood on his own. So he won’t tell Spock he loves him. Spock is not a pawn in the war game of Jim’s life, and he will not be Jim’s weakness or his sacrifice.

 

 

The shuttle to Tarsus is crowded, overly so, but Jim doesn’t mind. He spends the entire time chatting to a little boy beside him who started the journey colouring in Starships. Jim doesn’t tell Kevin Riley his real name. He doesn’t want to become a Kirk, just yet. The name will have no significance on Tarsus, but until he’s far from the humans who _know,_ he’s keeping his mouth shut. Instead, Jim takes the pencil the kid offers him and helps him colour in the darkness of space, while he assigns an array of very wrong colours to the ship itself.

 _Nothing is going to change, baby, I’m still your number one. You, Sam and me, always._ His mom had said, years before, when he’d still been a kid himself. Now, he has no idea where his mother even is. Maybe his shuttle passes her own ship, somewhere in the stars, at that very moment. He doesn’t even know if she knows he’d no longer on earth – he wouldn’t put it past Frank to have kept his mouth shut. But that’s fine. Jim is going to a better place, where the Kirks aren’t hero’s. They’re just a normal family, and Jim can be a normal kid.

He wishes Sam were there with him, though. Jim’s cells are rewritten, as the shuttle docks on Tarsus IV and he catches sight of his Aunt and Uncle for the first time. They look just like they do in the picture. Happy, close, warm. Jim’s cells are rewired and he laughs, a small sound he can’t prevent. He feels like he’s just thrown himself out of a moving car again. He says goodbye to Kevin Riley, and then he’s approaching _family._ The first hug his aunt gives him is almost painful. Like leaping so hard he thinks, he hopes, that this time he won’t hit the ground at all.

 

 

 

“500 years and they hadn’t managed to forge a peace.” Bones ponders over their evening meal in the mess. Spock sits beside the good Doctor, eating some Vulcan vegetables that Jim has thus far managed to steer clear of. He adores his First Officer, but he loathes vegetables. Vegetables don’t last. They rot and disintegrate. The bugs get to them first, no matter what they do to keep them away. Jim knows, logically, that he’s being illogical. He is on his ship where food is in no short supply, and it would take a disaster of momentous proportions to leave them hungry and unable to attend a stocking port. In any case, Jim knows they’d probably be dead if that came true, so it doesn’t matter.

To spite himself, he steals one of Bones’ raw carrot sticks and practically inhales it. Bones clearly can’t decide whether to be worried about him or angry at him, and Jim shoots him a cheeky grin to ensure the Doctor knows he isn’t about to spiral into a nervous breakdown.

“Idiot.” Bones says, affectionately, and tips some broccoli onto Jim’s plate too. Jim ignores it, reaching for his coffee instead. “You’d think someone would have formed some sort of rebellion by now. Did anyone manage to find anything about their history?”

“There is, in fact, a whole team now dedicated to collaborating with both planets to provide a complete assessment.” Spock informs McCoy, factually.

 _Captain, you almost make me believe in luck._ Spock had said, looking at Jim like he was the stars. His gaze, unwavering. Now, he looks to Jim’s best friend, clearly teasing him, and Jim wants to laugh and laugh.

“I was not aware you were a historian, Doctor.” Spock says, and Jim enjoys watching Bones’ face contort in anger.

 _Why, Mister Spock,_ Jim had replied, unable to stop himself from flirting, _you almost make me believe in miracles_. He adores his First Officer. Bones says both of them are idiots. He says they’re the sun and the moon, staring at each other. Jim disagrees, purely because he has little time for metaphors. Similes, sure. Things are pretty, and often _like_ other things. But Jim has no notions of true love, unrequited or otherwise. He knows he loves Spock, and he knows Spock loves him too. He won’t pine – he hasn’t got time for all that with a ship to Captain – and he won’t fuss. He and Spock love each other, and it will take them further than anything he ever imagined looking up at the stars as a child.

“Now gentlemen, play nicely.” Jim says, clapping a restraining hand to Bones’ shoulder.

Love is easier than he ever imagined. Easy, because Spock is _there_ and not going anywhere. They know each other inside out, and that’s not remotely complicated.

War games are difficult. Tactics change, lives are lost, war is bloody. Jim loathes war, just like Spock, like the Good Doctor. But he’ll kill – and if he had to choose between Spock’s survival and his own, there would be no choice. That’s why it’s so easy. Because he already knows what he’ll do. His mother, his brother, his Aunt and Uncle… they were never so simple to understand. What he has with Spock goes beyond any realm of his previous understanding of love. It is complete acceptance, and Jim revels in it.

He had nothing to lose from his mother, eventually, and nothing to fear from Frank. Spock is different. Spock makes everything good, which is why they both stay silent. Jim’s life has always been and always will be too violent. He will always fight for survival, because that’s all he’s ever known. Spock will not be a pawn for Jim to sacrifice. He will _not_ be Jim’s weakness.

 

 

 

Tarsus is everything Jim imagined and more. It’s wild fields to roam with the children from his advanced classes. It’s his Aunt’s home cooking which tastes better than anything he’s been made in years, and his Uncle teaching him how to waltz in their barn. Tarsus is like – god it’s like an old village from the history books, where people talk and laugh and interact in their communities. There are neighbours that wave out their windows and dance halls where he meets pretty girls and, for the first time, his clothes are cleaned and pressed enough for him to not be immediately scoffed at.

Jim is thrilled and challenged, and at night his bedroom is _warm._ He wishes Sam were there with him to enjoy this too, but he’s sure that wherever his brother is, he’s probably fine. Sam was always fine. It was Jim who could never manage to live with the consequences of his actions, of his words. But Jim is safe now, too. Fine. In the mornings, he picks up little Kevin from down the road and walks him to school for the Riley family, who are incessantly generous to Jim.

Tarsus is the Kirk Family Paradise, reborn. No horses, but fields and roaring fires and toasted marshmallows. Tarsus is his home. The only downfall is the stars. Because a lot of them are probably the same stars he’s seen before, but they’re _wrong._ He can’t pick out his favourite constellations, and the new ones aren’t as special. As much as he wishes he didn’t care, he still thinks of his dad’s star. The one that was supposedly looking down on Jim, protecting him as he slept. He sleeps soundly, anyway, because on Tarsus he doesn’t need protecting.

Jim’s changed, again, in the space of a few months. He thinks he has matured, as his aunt says of all the boys. He studies and eats and grows a few inches whenever his aunt looks away, she says. He laughs and teaches Kevin how to play chess, and his Uncle teaches them _all_ to waltz. Jim stops thinking about Sam so much, and his thoughts rarely stray to his mom. His grandma dies, and she was the kindest woman in the world, so Jim cries for a bit even though he’s too old to cry. Even though he hasn’t even cried for his own mother in years. His Aunt takes over the title of kindest woman in the world, and he’s more than okay with it. Kevin agrees, after a little convincing that his mom _can’t_ have that title because she’s the _coolest._

Eventually, he stops thinking about his grandma as well as Sam and his Mom. Eventually, he stops remembering to even feel guilty for that.

 

 

 

There’s something about Nyota Uhura’s voice that makes Jim feel completely warm, inside and out. The tumbler of scotch he’s nursing, courtesy of Bones, might be helping, but Jim doesn’t mind. It’s his evening ‘off’ after that particularly gruelling ordeal – even though, in comparison it’s _nothing_. Not considering some of the fiascos they’ve been in. Jim doesn’t like being threatened with death. He doesn’t like War or unnecessary killing. He especially loathes people threatening his crew and his ship (he tries hard not to focus in on Spock, despite his XO’s face blaring in his mind). But, all in all, it was more like a tactical exercise than a real threat. Clever people, he knows, can be reasoned with. Clever people, more often than not, can be persuaded to do what is right above what is easy.

 _We can admit that we're killers, but we're not going to kill today. That's all it takes_. Jim dislikes war, but war games are just fascinating. Tactics, he thinks, like chess. But people are not pawns. People cannot be sacrificed. The only viable form of sacrifice is that of the self. Jim would be a hypocrite to suggest otherwise. He’d die a thousand times over for anyone he cares for, but the day he stops hating himself for the unnecessary waste of his crew, is the day he dies.

 _Disaster, disease, starvation! Horrible lingering death! Pain and anguish!_ Anan 7 had said, and Jim had felt those words to his core. They shook him and stripped him of all his defences. He’d known disaster, disease and starvation. He took a risk, and it paid off. This time. _Captain, you almost make me believe in luck._ Jim purposefully doesn’t flinch, and refocuses his attention on Uhura and, sat beside her, Spock.

Jim’s lived through enough death to be good at war games. He’s learnt from the best. He knows how to read people and how to manipulate situations. When he play’s chess, he doesn’t always play logically. He smiles, because that infuriates his First Officer, and Spock is beautiful like that.

Spock is beautiful a lot of ways. His fingers are nimble as he plucks at strings, produces notes that have the Officer’s Mess enraptured, nursing their drinks and listening carefully to their two bridge officers’ performance. Jim’s worried he might be staring just a bit too hard, so he sips his scotch and rubs the bridge of his nose and smiles cheekily at Uhura when she’s holding a note, so that she laughs and glares at him.

Spock looks amused, and it fills Jim’s heart, and he blushes and dares himself not to look away. There. Like that. Those brief, infinite moments where Spock sits across from him and looks at Jim like’s he’s the stars. Jim is fine with similes, and he’s more than okay with that one, because he thinks Spock is like the moon and he’s like a lowly Terran of ages past, staring up at him – not quite able to reach.

One day, he will reach. He doesn’t want to stray into the territory of metaphors, because that’s Leonard’s job, and he doesn’t think it fitting of Spock anyway. But it’s true, and Jim’s never been articulate enough in love to turn down a descriptor. He’s not sure he’s ever even been in love like _this._ One day, he’ll reach out and take Spock’s hand and no-one will comment on it because they’ve known as long as Jim has.

There might still be blood on Jim’s hands, even years from now. But he might have redeemed himself enough, by then. _Millions of people horribly killed!_ Anan 7 had implored him. _Complete destruction of our culture, here yes, and the culture on Vendikar. Disaster, disease, starvation! Horrible lingering death! Pain and anguish!_ For every planet Jim saves, maybe he’s atoning for his sins of Tarsus. For the things he did to survive. Maybe Spock knows that, and that’s why he’ll never be the first to take Jim’s hand.

 

 

 

 

Tarsus gets bad, quickly. Or maybe slowly, and Jim doesn’t notice because he’s too busy being happy. He’s too busy studying, pouring over texts that he’s never even heard about before Tarsus. One minute he’s asking why his Aunt has stopped eating breakfast with him – why his Uncle looks so worried about the crops, and the next he’s being told to _run._

Jim runs, because he trusts his Aunt and Uncle, and the last time his instincts told him to run, he’d ignored them. He’d ignored them and Sam had left without him, and he’d been left heartbroken and alone and _scared_ , no matter how much he wishes otherwise.

Jim runs as the guards storm their home. He runs through fields that used to be high and full of life, but now wilt around him as he forges ahead. He runs as his skin starts to itch, allergic or just irritated by the dying plants. He runs until he hears Kevin scream, and then he turns on his heel and _races._

Kevin has a dislocated shoulder when they finally get away, so Jim holds his other hand and runs with him into the woods, and for months they _don’t stop._ It becomes quickly apparent that things are terrible, and never more so than the day Jim watches 4000 colonists die in the square. His Aunt and Uncle are among them. Kevin’s parents, too. Jim feels more betrayed than he ever has done. It hurts worse than losing Sam and his Mom, worse than all Frank’s taunts and the lonely comfort of his Dad’s star. The pain stays with Jim every single day.

He has nothing to lose, and so he has nothing to fear.

He has Kevin. Then, he collects _others._ Lucy. Cheidza. Arkul. Francesca. Ark and Lucy both starve, and there’s _nothing_ Jim can do about it. He steals and fights for all he can, but it’s never enough. He halves most of his own food for Kevin, stores some away, makes sure there’s always a stash somewhere, just in case. Fran gets a cold or _something_ , and coughs up blood in the night and then just stops.

Jim’s glad when she does. She was stopping Kevin from sleeping.

Cheidza is brave and quiet, and she’s Jim’s first kiss. She’s older than him and stronger. When Kodos’ men find them, he _screams_ as she’s killed.

He becomes a murderer for her, and it isn’t until the deed is already done that Kevin turns to him, too small and too wide-eyed and _too young,_ and informs him he isn’t a murderer _for_ Cheidza. He’s just a murderer. Cheidza, infinitely kind, would never have asked him to kill. Jim weeps, and Kevin holds him, and the next day they break into Kodos’ complex with an idea in mind.

Get help, or die trying.

That’s what he tells Kevin. Better to die saving lives than live taking them.

Kevin deserves that much, at least. When they met, he was still learning to draw between the lines, and now he’s a soldier. All their families are gone. If Winona Kirk is out there in the stars somewhere, Jim doesn’t want her. There is no pretence, not now. He knows he’s old enough to still need his mom, but he doesn’t want her. He has learned a few things from her, though. On that last night, he holds Kevin and strokes his hair until he drifts off into an uneasy sleep. He hopes Kevin feels safe with him. Like, if Jim just stays with him forever, nothing will ever hurt him.

Jim vows it, silently. He doesn’t confess though, not to anyone, that he’s going to get help or kill Kodos. He knows he can do it. But he’ll honour Kevin first, and try to get out a signal. He’s already a killer anyway, so what does it matter if there’s a little more blood on his hands. He’s conflicted, deeply so, and he doesn’t sleep that night. Kevin is the best of him. He tries to be the big brother that Sam _should_ have been. He wants Kodos dead, and he wants Kevin safe. He can’t have one without the other, he knows.

This is war, he thinks, unlike any in the history books. It is his own personal war against Kodos. If he has to sacrifice Kevin to win, so be it.

 

 

 

Spock joins him in his quarters after they depart the mess, finally, and Jim looks to their last half-finished game of Chess still out on his table.

“I’m not really in the mood for games tonight.” Jim admits, attempting cheeriness and failing miserably. He sits, and Spock does so too, unprompted, and Jim tries hard not to grin. He may feel tired and conflicted, but Spock’s learned comfort around Jim is always heartening.

“I wished to enquire after your wellbeing, Jim.” Spock says quietly, interlacing his fingers and reclining slightly.

It’s not usual for Jim to feel so awkward in his own quarters. Even when he’s so tempted to kiss Spock that he thinks he shouldn’t ever trust himself to be alone with his XO, it’s not this painful. He crosses his legs and his arms, tapping his fingers against his thumbs rhythmically.

“How do you decide who lives and dies, Spock. How do we decide?” He asks, and it’s easier to keep speaking once he’s started. “How does Bones pick who gets the most attention in an emergency? How do we choose decide who goes on away missions? To their deaths, potentially? These aren’t war games. This isn’t a simulation. Death isn’t clean and swift.”

“No, it is not.” Spock says, lips thin and gaze close and unrelenting. Spock looks at him like he’s the stars, but Stars die. They’re there, and then they’re gone. Just old light, running out of time. “Anan 7 spoke of disaster, disease and starvation. You would not have let any of these possibilities come to fruition. You were and continue to be exemplary to your crew. They trust you. You must remember to trust yourself, also. The Enterprise cannot function without her Captain.”

Spock is kind. Infinitely more so than he might first appear. Jim thinks he’s made logic and emotion function together perfectly, and he aspires to be the same. Spock brings out the best of him. Supports him. Lifts him up, when all he can see is the petrified gaze of little Kevin Riley as the flames of Kodos’ complex consume them both. Kevin is safe now. Uhura has taken him under her wing, and they don’t really talk. Jim can’t. He can’t take special interest in Kevin. If he does, he thinks his heart will break again. Kevin was too young. He doesn’t _really_ remember. He certainly didn’t before Kodos’ return.

“I’m functioning, Spock. I’m good.” Jim kicks his feet up, to prove his point. “I took a risk, it paid off. It’s just…” He pauses, because _how_ does he explain this. At no point did the situation feel out of hand. At no point did he feel scared or hurt or like he couldn’t kick and scream his way out of danger. Spock _knows_ this, and yet Jim still feels shaky. Like he needs to beat something to let out his adrenaline.

“Do you ever think about the past? About the choices you’ve made?”

“Not often, Jim.”

“Well, sometimes I do. And sometimes I wonder what I’d have done if I were Kodos. They teach it at the Academy – don’t they? Ethics. I always skipped that class. Figured I didn’t need to be taught the decision that killed the last Kirk.” He doesn’t mean that literally, clearly, because his Mom is still out there and Sam - making a whole new generation of Kirks. But his mom left, and Sam ran, and George died, and so did Tarsus. Along with it Jim and his Aunt and Uncle. So they’re not really Kirks. Not in Jim’s mind.

“You do not believe in no-win scenarios, Jim. You would never have allowed innocent people to die. I speak from experience, and from the sound knowledge that should Nyota or Doctor McCoy hear you doubting yourself in such a manner, they would be most disappointed.” Spock looks as sure as ever. Jim rarely sees doubt or uncertainty on his First Officer’s face – most often when Jim’s life is at risk – and maybe that’s why Jim loves him. Because Spock isn’t sure who he’d choose either. Duty, or his love.

They both know there’s no choice, just as easily as they both know they’d kill. It’s as simple as life itself. Just how it goes. It makes Jim smile, still. War games are difficult, even for Jim who has lived through much worse. But he knows he loves Spock, and he knows that Spock accepts him for all that he is. He isn’t the first. He’s no miracle saviour to ensure Jim’s self-esteem remains satisfactory. Bones has held that job for longer, and knows Jim just as deeply as anyone ever has done. But Spock is _there_ with him, right now, and Jim is certain he is in love.

Self-sacrifice, Jim can do. He’d do it any day, for any number of reasons. But he’ll never give up Spock without a fight.

“My hands aren’t clean, Spock. What if I’m no different from Anan 7? From Kodos? What if I’d make all the same choices?”

Spock shrugs, carefully, and it’s reminiscent of Sulu on lazy mornings when they’re all on late shifts and gather for breakfast. Sulu is _not_ a morning person, and converses mostly in shrugs and groans and easy going grins. Spock has clearly been paying attention.

“You have not, and you would not.” Spock says. “Today, you might have found us an escape route and departed the planet. Left it to Starfleet and taken your crew to safety. Instead, you won. I do not doubt you will always endeavour to do so, Captain.”

Jim laughs, leans forward, and pushes his knight. “Let’s play, Spock. See if I’m as good at winning as you seem to think.”

 

 

 

 

Help comes too late for the others, the Medics tell him when he thrashes in a waking nightmare and begs for his friends, for his aunt and uncle. Help came too late for them, but _you_ were rescued, they say. Jim doesn’t tell them he wishes he’d died down there too. He doesn’t confess that he can still feel jagged metal in his hands. His first weapon. Avenging deaths he could no longer count on one hand. Fighting for food. Fighting to keep Kevin alive. Fighting, to restore his own reputation in Kevin’s young, wide, frightened eyes.

Jim has changed. The paradise of Tarsus crumbled around him, and he grew up. He sits up in his hospital bed now, and the nurses chat to him. One of them is quite young, and Jim flirts because it’s fun and it makes people laugh, and why shouldn’t they laugh.

He colours in, sometimes. Kevin had gone away – and he wakes up gasping his name, clutching sheets where Kevin _should_ be – before Jim remembers Kevin isn’t his actual brother. Kevin has his own family, somewhere, and he’ll probably grow up strong and healthy.

Jim has changed, and he really doesn’t know who he is anymore. He recognises the constellations, but he can never look at them for too long. Somewhere out there, his dad’s star looks down on him. He doesn’t sleep, though, so he doesn’t need protecting. He’s learnt how to protect himself. He doesn’t need any star, or his real brother, or his mom. If his grandma were alive, oh the kindest woman in the universe, he’d be okay with that. But his real family, his aunt and uncle… the girls from school, the boys he waltzed with… they’re all gone.

His mom makes it home, eventually. Jim wakes to a hand in his hair, stroking him to his neck and repeating the motion. Suddenly, he’s five years old and terrified she won’t be there for him anymore. He’s nine, and she’s home for a quick visit but she doesn’t want to hear _a word_ against Frank. He’d thirteen, and he’s crying for his mother in a prison cell because he almost killed himself and now he’s alone and Sam has left him too. He’s on Tarsus, holding Kevin exactly like his mother used to hold him – exactly like she’s holding him now.

Jim heaves with silent sobs, and his mother holds him tighter, but it’s not _enough._ He no longer feels like her holding him will keep the crying and the pain at bay. _She_ is not enough. He has learnt to survive without her, and to have her back now is almost more painful. But he has nothing to lose by letting her hold him, and nothing to fear in knowing she’ll leave again soon. He can survive without her. He learnt the hard way. So why not take advantage now, while she’s still around?

 _Trust me, Jimmy,_ his mom had said, _I’ll always be a Kirk_. _I’m still your number one. You, Sam and me, always._ Then she had smiled at him, eyes sparkling in her special ‘Jim’ smile.

Jim looks at his mother eventually, when he’s ran out of tears and the sun is starting to rise. He sees her eyes sparkling, and she attempts to smile at him then. It’s brave and resilient, because Winona would _never_ cry in front of Jim. He realises now that her smile had always been sad, and she had always tried to be strong. Her lies had, at least, kept him going for a few years. Maybe it had been kinder.

 _It’s sometimes kinder to lie_ , his grandma had told him. Jim knows how to be kind. He learned from two of the kindest women in the universe, after all.

“I don’t blame you.” He tells his mom, clutching her hand. “You wanted to be in the stars, with dad. I understand. And I was happy, for a while. There.” He can’t bring himself to say Tarsus, because he might just throw up, but it’s enough. It’s enough for his mother, who laughs wetly and nods.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.” She says. “You did so good. You survived for me. I love you so much.” She kisses his hair. “Do you trust me, Jim? I’ll always come back for you. I’m a Kirk first, and then an Officer.”

“I know, mom.” Jim lies, because _she_ is not a Kirk. There are no Kirks left. “I trust you.” He lies again. His mother had broken his trust the day she left them with Frank. The day she wouldn’t listen to Sam’s concerns about the old man. The day he learned to keep his mouth shut and not upset people. She never came home when Sam left, and she never objected to Tarsus.

Jim wraps his hands, ignoring the wires and needles pinching into him, into his mother’s uniform. They fall into silence. Jim pretends to sleep, eventually. _You wanted to be in the stars, with dad. I understand._ He’d told his mother. He does understand. He sort of wishes he was still on Tarsus. With his friends. With his first kiss. With his Aunt and Uncle. There is nothing left for him on Earth now. He’s changed, but he doesn’t know what into. But he knows his mom, and he knows she always tried to do what was best for him even as he world collapsed around her. She doesn’t deserve the guilt of Tarsus. He can carry that weight alone.

 

 

 

Spock is beautiful, and Jim is terrified.

 _Captain, you almost make me believe in luck._ Spock had said, and Jim had smiled because Spock was just that precious. He’s never much cared for luck. Hard work, precision, dedicated – sure. But there have to have been some stars in the sky that decided to favour him with Spock.

 _Why, Mister Spock, you almost make me believe in miracles._ Jim had replied, and maybe that _was_ a better descriptor. Spock was nothing short of a miracle, despite being a man of science and logic.

“Checkmate.” Spock says softly, and Jim blinks.

“It’s a good job I have you to keep me on my toes, isn’t it Spock? Or I dread to think how today would have gone.”

Spock tilts his head – only slightly – like Chekov doing an impressive sum in his head. He can manage them almost as fast as Spock, but Spock always lets him get there first. Jim was impressed by Spock’s patience, his kindness, to their young officer – but he’s also impressed by the notion that Spock was once again studying human mannerisms. It’s adorable – and unnecessary. Spock was never quite as stiff as everyone seemed to think.

“It is fortunate that you trust me to do so, Captain.” Spock replies, seamlessly, and Jim feels winded. Trust is such a bittersweet word. Trust is everything, but it can so easily be broken. Maybe that’s why Jim wants to wait, till they’re older and wiser. One day, when trust isn’t so scary, Jim will just take Spock’s hand, as is the Vulcan way. The corner of Spock’s mouth will quirk in an almost smile, but he’ll remain silent as they walk away. Together.

“I can’t sacrifice you, Spock. Don’t you think that compromises the ship?”

“No, Captain. I believe it makes us a better team. We are each committed to the other's survival.”

Jim laughs. “Committed? Why, mister Spock, you almost make me believe in love.” The tease slips from him easily, but there's no post-slip up anxiety that washes over him. How could there be, when Spock looks so calm?

“I will endeavour to fully convince you, Jim.” Spock says, factually. He makes no effort to move from his seat, and Jim knows what he’s doing. He’s still waiting for Jim to be the one to reach out. For Jim to accept that he’s _enough_ and he’s done _enough_ and the blood on his hands had only ever been to protect, not to attack.

“I do trust you, Spock.” Jim says, carefully, observing the chess board. It was a stunning win from Spock, really, and he’s not quite sure how that happened. So he lost one match. One match, in the grand scheme of things, is nothing. He’s still winning by 5 matches, in their tally.

Spock is his last move, in this particular chess game. His weakness, as big as the Enterprise and as staggering as the lives of 400 crewmen. But weaknesses can become strengths, just as easily as Jim wants them to. Spock is right. They are a better team because they understand each other, better than anyone. They’re the _best_ command team.

He could tell Spock he loves him at any moment. It would fall from his lips easily – far more so than admitting he trusted the other man. Love doesn’t die quickly – not like trust. Trust is far more precious than love. He doesn’t _need_ to express the sentiment that Spock is already confident of – as confident as Jim is that Spock loves him too. They just don’t need to cross that line, to go to that place. If they ever do, it will be an afterthought. An incident. Another day.

“I’ve come a long way since Tarsus, Spock. You didn’t know me back then, but I don’t think you’d have liked me. Kevin didn’t, in the end.” Kevin couldn’t wait to get away from him, after all. Jim is glad that Lieutenant Riley doesn’t really remember Jim properly, because he could not command a man who looked at him with those little boy’s eyes and feared what his bloodied hands could do, curled around some jagged metal, standing in rubble and flames.

“Captain-“

“My point, Spock, is that I’ve changed. You’re changing me, even now. You make me a better Captain and a better human.” There is a smile on his lips, even if it’s weak and barely fighting back tears. “I trust you not to leave me, Spock. We’re a team, aren’t we? We’re good for each other.”

“Indeed, Jim.” Spock’s doing that almost-smile thing again. His eyes are pure affection, and Jim wants to launch himself across the chess board and jump on him. But that’s a far cry from all his fantasies of the day they just hold hands and stroll away, so he keeps himself firmly in his seat.

“My mom left, when I was a kid. She always smiled at me, Spock, and she hated it, but she did it anyway because she knew what she was doing to me. She left. And my brother left. And my aunt and uncle died, and my grandma too, and no-one ever came back for me. My mom left over and over, and we smiled at each other every time. Do you understand, Spock?” He needs Spock to understand, because no-one else can or will. It has to be Spock.

“I believe so, Jim.” Spock stands, moves around the table and kneels before him. “You are frightened that I will break your trust. That I will walk away from you. You believe that your past, your own brand of logic, your incessant desire to sacrifice yourself for the safety of others, will drive me away from you. Because of this, you have no intention of touching me until I have proven myself to you.”

“Not like that, Spock. Never with you. I need to know we’re a team, first. Friends, first. Starfleet officers second.” It’s not too far away from his mother’s lie. Kirk first, Officer second. But it means so much more for him and Spock. It’s confirming they will sacrifice everything for each other. While this should go unspoken for most… couples, Jim _needs_ to know. Maybe it was instilled in him by his father’s sacrifice. Or Tarsus. God, who could tell at this point. “I won’t sacrifice you, Spock. I can’t.”

“You are tired, Captain. If you slept soundly, you might find your distress alleviated.” Spock says seriously, and then he raises his fingers in what Jim _knows_ is a Vulcan kiss. “To soothe you in the meantime, I confess you are T’hy’la, and my first duty will always be to your safety.” Jim thinks he might be floating, or unconscious, or flat out dead. Because Spock is in front of him, and he’s _beautiful_ in the dim light. Any light, actually, but especially right now.

“T’hy’la?” Jim attempts.

“Soulmate.” Spock replies, and Jim’s fingers wind around Spock’s instantly. He was right, in all his fantasizing. It does feel natural, and lovely, and Spock’s lips capture his own not a moment later. “That is the closest earth equivalent, in any case.” Spock explains, drawing back. “It means friend, brother and lover. It is a form of bond.”

“Wicked.” Jim breathes. “Spock? I do- love you – by the way. I might not say if often, not nearly as often as you deserve, but it’ll always be true. When you’re in my head, you’ll feel it- won’t you?”

“I will Jim.” Spock assures him. “You need not worry about that, not yet.” He stands, extending his hand to Jim again. This time, in a sturdy grasp. “As I won our game, I suggest you honour my victory by retiring. It has been a particularly trying day.”

There’s blood on Jim’s hands. He can see it, his hands shaking slightly from a cause he can’t identify. He thinks of his _family._ Of his aunt and uncle. Lucy. Cheidza. Ark. Francesca. They all died, and he survived. He scratched and fought and kicked and screamed, but he survived. And how far he’s come.

 _Millions of people horribly killed!_ Anan 7 had warned. _Complete destruction of our culture, here yes and the culture on Vendikar. Disaster, disease, starvation! Horrible lingering death! Pain and anguish!_

Jim had stopped that. Prevented the disaster, disease and starvation that had plagued his own happy childhood. He’s stopped the needless killing too. So maybe there was blood on his hands, but Jim wasn’t a bad person. He certainly deserved to be happy.

“You’ll stay with me?”

“Of course.” Spocks says, as if it was never even a question for him. Maybe relationships come a lot easier to Spock than they do to Jim, but that’s good. That’s helpful. Jim doesn’t sully Spock’s clean hands with his own dirty ones as he lets his _bondmate_ help him up. They’re a team, and they’re going to do great things. There are men and women _living_ on planets never before explored by Starfleet because of _them_. Daily, peace treaties are forged and children laugh. There are worlds joining together, love forming, families growing and exploration occurring in the wake of the Enterprise.

The universe is improving, Jim knows this now as clearly as he did when help first arrived on Tarsus. Too late to save him, but not too late to save Kevin. Kevin, who is now helping the Enterprise forge that path.

Jim strips from his uniform and falls into bed beside Spock, to sleep and dream and hopefully wake early to make out. As he lays, Spock beside him, he feels like he’s floating. Like that split second, flinging himself from a moving car, making that life-changing decision to just stay _alive._ Live, get arrested, get sent to Tarsus, lose _everything_ and, eventually, find Spock. Now he’s on a beautiful ship, beside a beautiful Vulcan, and he’s found that weightlessness. He’s soaring in space, and he’s doing good work, and life is fine.

Better than fine, it’s good.

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I don't know what this is. How on earth I got A Taste of Armageddon, Tarsus AND t'hy'la into one fic, I don't know, but I hope it's okay. I'm experimenting with my styles.
> 
> If you find mistakes, do please let me know.


End file.
